Last night we went out to Red Lobster. It was my idea, and it wasn't even until halfway through my delicious meal of crab legs that I remembered that I was trying to give up shellfish prenatally. Oh, well. There's not a baby yet by any means, so let me enjoy my crabs in peace!

(Being from Maryland, I grew up on crab. One of my earliest memories involves my uncle coming to our house, bringing over a paper bag full of crabs, properly coated in Old Bay seasoning. While the family was getting ready for dinner, I crept up to the bag sitting alone on the picnic table in the backyard. I may have been about three years old at the time, and had never before had crab. I picked up an entire crab and tried to sink my little baby teeth into the hard shell, coating my tongue in Old Bay in the process. Mom had no call to laugh as hard as she did at the sight of her daughter, running in and out of the house for a half-hour, screaming for a glass of milk.)

Anyway, before we could be seated, we were standing in the lobby, talking about nothing in particular; I think Eric was telling me about how lobster used to be considered "peasant food." All I know is, he came in close for a quick kiss, and I was ready. Right there, in the middle of Red Lobster, I wanted Eric to drag me to the floor and have me. My eyes widened and I kissed him again. Oh, Lord! There were children standing about, poking at the lobster-quarium, and I was dying to maul my husband.

"Honey?"
"Yeah?"
"Think we have time to run out to the car?"
Stares. "No!"
"Well, kiss me again, and maybe later..."

The funny thing is, it never happened. We got home, I called my mom at the hospital - she had her surgery yesterday, and it went splendidly - and by then Eric was wrapped up in Law and Order. I ended up going to bed early. Today, though! Today will be a different story!

I haven't really engaged in a good ol' Public Display of Affection in a good while. Not since we got married, really, and probably not for a few years before that. We spent quite a bit of time around mutual friends when we hung out, and they'd razz Eric whenever we started. (Of course, I'm not considering that night with all the bottles of wine and Laurie's camera...)

(You think I'm kidding, don't you?)

(A story for another time, folks...)

I've been working on slowly corrupting one of the teenage pages who works here at the library. She just reminds me way too much of myself at her age, so I can't help but try to introduce her to all the things I enjoyed so much in the years awaiting her. The other day she asked me for a book recommendation, and I sent her over to the Elmore Leonard books; I remember adoring Freaky Deaky, even if I did have to hide it from my mother. She's looking for things to do on the internet, so I tell her about MUDs. (Mind you, the last time I did that, the girl ended up getting pregnant by and marrying someone she met on the MUD.) I feel so...dirty.

I'm not used to being the "corrupter of innocence." Oh, sure, I've done my fair share of naughty deeds, but on the whole I somehow manage to exude this air of goodness; when I first started dating Eric, the gang jokingly compared me (behind my back, of course) to a pickle jar with the lid on too tight - apparently, just waiting for Eric to "loosen me up." Hardy-har, guys.

I didn't end up breaking out of that mold until one night at Eat n' Park when Laurie and I were discussing her problems with her various forms of birth control. Midway though the conversation, a member of the elderly couple at the next table turned and said, roughly, "Could you change the topic of your conversation?" We giggled over it, and then, as they were getting up to leave, I managed to shock everyone at our table by piping up, "Three cheers for the pill!"

They never really thought of me as Miss Pure again. Well, not as frequently, anyway.

(And especially not after the camera incident...)

(What, you think I'm going to spill it all, right here?)

I think I've already said that I was a virgin before Eric. It kind of makes me chuckle now; for somebody with only one sexual partner, I sure have had a ton of people see me in the buff. Let's see, there were the weekly strip poker games at Eric's old apartment. When we played for change, I won my fair share of games, but when we played for clothing, all the guys would cheat to make sure it wasn't they who would end up nude by the end of the night. Then there was the year that I needed more living money than my biweekly trips to the plasma bank would provide, so I landed a job doing nude modeling for the art department.

I got some very nice charcoal sketches of myself out of the bargain, too. I've enjoyed other jobs far less than I enjoyed that one. The only complaint I had was when the classes would post their drawings on the walls of the lobby; the music department shared the building with the art, so I could always count on finding my buddies standing beneath my pictures and giggling.

I was in marching band and theatre, and we all know how modesty abounds in those groups.

Oh, and the Night of the Camera.

(Hey, I wouldn't be much of a story-teller if I didn't leave my audience begging for more...)